


Magic Mirror on the Wall

by tooyoungtobesostressed



Series: Disney Princes [2]
Category: Snow White - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Child Abuse, F/M, Family Death, Genderbend Fairytales, Genderswap Snow White, Insanity, Magic, Magic Mirror - Freeform, Male Snow White, Opal Dagger, Orphan - Freeform, Snow White Elements, Stepfather, Vanity, Warlock - Freeform, Warrior - Freeform, Well - Freeform, Wizard, black magic, cottage, forest, kingdom - Freeform, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooyoungtobesostressed/pseuds/tooyoungtobesostressed
Summary: A modern retelling of Disney's first movie adaptation. Draws parts from the many different versions of this story, including the author's twists and style.
Series: Disney Princes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605280
Comments: 23
Kudos: 9





	Magic Mirror on the Wall

_“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”_

The hunt was almost over.

To some, the Mirror was a mere myth; to others, a trick of vanity. To the handsome warlock, however, it was his destiny.

He finally knew the location of the infamous Magic Mirror. He had destroyed kingdoms, entire dynasties from the inside. He had killed; he had stolen. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to prove to the world, once and for all, that he was the fairest in all the land. No one will question his beauty. No one will fail to stare at him in awe and feel envy for his brilliance.

He was destined to be the brightest star on this earth, and only the Magic Mirror could crown him so; after all, the Mirror knew best.

And, finally, he knew where it was and how he would make the Mirror his. He had followed it to a small kingdom in Germany, named Waldeck. The Royal Family of Waldeck at this time belonged to the Weiss dynasty, who had received the Mirror as a gift.

The warlock vowed that the Mirror would serve the Weiss Dynasty no longer.

His path to the Mirror led to thousands of deaths and endless pain, and now he almost had it in his grasp. The downfall of another kingdom meant nothing to him- humans meant nothing to him. He will not bat an eye as he murders his way to the Waldeck throne, and he would make them suffer under the reign of him and his Magic Mirror.

The death of the king was child’s play. The young warlock relished in the kingdom’s pain of the ‘natural’ death of their beloved king. Even with magic, it took three years to convince the queen to make him her king, but only two days of marriage to her to infect her with a disease that had proved effective in mere minutes, leaving behind only her ten-year-old son, Ivory.

For the warlock, his story was almost over. Ivory’s story, however, had only begun…

* * *

The king stood above his dead wife now, smiling with his tear-stained cheeks. He was finally the absolute monarch. The queen had just been pronounced dead, and the room he stood in was now his alone. The kingdom was his.

The queen, after only two days of marriage, had not disclosed the location of the Magic Mirror to him. He had hoped she would gift it to him on their wedding day, but after receiving a mere statue of himself, he knew he would have to search for the Mirror in secret.

He shook the thoughts out of his mind. Now was not the time for this. This was a time of celebration. He was so close to victory. The kingdom was his, the world was his; soon, humankind would bow down to him and-

The Royal Chamber doors burst open and the young Prince, Ivory, ran past the king. The king hated the widely beloved child.

“What’s wrong with mamma? Why is she not moving?”

The young boy was frozen by his mother’s bed. He had followed the commotion to his mother’s room, wondering what the matter was. His mother had been fine in the morning; she’d had breakfast with him. They had plans to feed the ducks in the pond later, before lunch- so why was she in bed? No one had told the boy anything.

The king looked at the scene before him and waved the guards out of the Royal Chambers. An ache brewed behind his eyes. The last thing he needed at this moment was a whining child.

He had promised himself he would try to be nice to the boy. After all, the child had done nothing wrong, and would not possibly stand in his way to greatness at his young age. But…

There was something about the boy that grated the king. The child was still young, with a soft face and big, trusting eyes, but the king knew Ivory would one day be very handsome. That threatened the king.

“She’s dead, Ivory.”

The young boy stared up at him, eyes wide and watery. His irises were every colour the king had ever seen in eyes, and his tears made the colours glow and dance around. Fury rose in the king’s heart.

“What- what do-?”

“She’s dead, child! She’s dead!” The king yelled suddenly, surprising even himself.

As Ivory stepped back in fear, the king roughly grabbed the boy’s wrist. The king didn’t know what his plan was for the boy, nor did he know why he was scaring the child now. He just knew he wanted the child out of his sight- out of everyone’s sight.

Ivory was crying, struggling to get out of the king’s grip. An idea formed in the warlock’s mind. He tightened his grip on the child and, as Ivory whimpered, called the guards back into the room.

Five guards hurried in, immediately at attention.

“My king,” one of them said after they all saluted him. The warlock could see the confusion in their eyes as they saw Ivory struggle and cry. “What happened?”

The king shoved the child into the soldiers disgustedly, putting as much force into the action as he could. “This child, this _brat_ did not care that his mother just passed- he only had tears to shed for his lost inheritance!”

“My- my Lord?”

“I cannot forgive this impertinence, this disrespect! Take him down to the servant quarters. There, he will learn gratitude.”

“My Lord, I must-”

“Silence!” Fury boiled in the king’s heart. “Let the kingdom know the prince is dead. Let us be the only ones who know the truth.”

The king could feel the hesitancy in the room. The kingdom was very fond of Ivory, he knew that. They thought of the boy as a gift; and now, even more so, they would consider him the last of the Weiss Dynasty.

The king looked at the boy, who was staring at the form of his dead mother on the Royal Bed. The boy had stopped crying- likely because he was in shock. The king almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the child. He knew he was being too hasty, hiding the child on the eve of his mother’s death. He tried to find space in his heart for Ivory, for the little boy before him who had just become an orphan. But as he looked at the child; at his magnificent eyes; his raven black hair expertly cut; his rosy nose and cheeks; the king only felt envy. He decided there that this child would not be his undoing. His search for the Mirror and for unlimited power would not be thwarted by a pathetic orphan. This child was his biggest threat, and the king itched to rid the world of the prince.

No, he would keep him. He would force the child into slavery, and he would reduce Ivory to nothing. No spell of his was strong enough to cover the entire kingdom, but the king didn’t need the kingdom to forget about Ivory. If the boy lost his identity, his loved ones, his memories, and his teachings, he could keep the boy as a spoil of war, a trophy of his victory. With the kingdom thinking he was dead, the child would never know his worth and never question the king’s place. Ivory’s spirit must be dampened forever.

The king smiled at the thought. He knew just the spell. _The prince will never know peace for as long as he lives._

“Get him out of my sight.”

Unbeknownst to the king, he had made his first fatal mistake that evening. The morning of his mother’s passing, Ivory Weiss had not been a threat to the king’s power at all. That morning, the king had the kingdom convinced of his ‘true nature and loyalty’ to the people. It was after the murder of the queen and after his ill treatment of the prince that something grew inside Ivory. As a child, he would identify it as rebellion. Soon, however, the prince would see it for what it truly was: destiny.

Ivory took one last look at his mother, laying motionless on the bed. Feeling emotions too complex for a child to understand, he was led out of the room, never to see her again.

* * *

The kingdom was left in the greedy hands of the new king; who, while he was handsome, was also vain, cruel, and heartless. It was widely believed that the queen’s passing had been the new king’s doing, but the royal guards and the people of the kingdom were powerless against the king, so there was nothing they could do but mourn the former king and queen’s deaths daily. It soon became clear to the land that the king had the increasingly rare gift of magic. Even rarer, however, was the king’s propensity to use his magic for evil; and thus, the kingdom withered under the dark rule of the new king.

Most withered, though, was the orphaned prince. The king’s plan to overtake the Weiss dynasty had not involved a child, and so the cruel man had no time for the boy. He was made a slave of the house.

Age slowly revealed the boy’s beauty, against which the king revolted as much as he could. Ivory’s skin was dangerously pale from malnourishment. His body bore the marks of labour and cruelty. He was forced into rags and forbidden to step outside the castle gates, lest anyone see the enslaved prince.

The king’s efforts were in vain. The young prince’s beauty was legendary. The people spoke of him often; of his handsome appearance, of his enchanting voice, of his kindness, and his jocular nature. After rumours leaked from the castle walls that the prince was alive but a slave in his own house, those of the kingdom that dared to believe such a thing found hope again. They prayed of a day the prince would be freed and the kingdom would be rid of their tyrant king.

* * *

_“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”_

There are not many things in this world that are more ironic than an omniscient Mirror. Even less, for that matter, that this Mirror’s great power be used for vanity. Irony, as a concept, was truly the Magic Mirror’s curse; but definitely not the only curse it should encounter…

The first time the Mirror heard these words it knew, with horrifying certainty, that terrible things had happened for this meeting to take place. The Mirror took in the essence of the figure standing before it, and was met with a tormented soul, parasitic in nature. The Mirror did not have to look far to find the evil in the essence before it.

_“It is you, my king.”_

* * *

It was another five years before the king rediscovered the Magic Mirror, hidden in the sacred royal vault deep beneath the castle. The king had spent and unprecedented amount of money and time finding the Mirror. Then, after he found it, he had been forced to break each of the Mirror’s defensive spells, some of which were too ancient for any spell book or wizard elder to remember. By the time he could speak to the Mirror, the king had been driven mad with time and vanity. After he moved the Mirror to the Royal Chambers, he asked it a simple question, and was rewarded a simple answer.

Thus began the Mirror’s servitude to the hungry king.

* * *

Three years later, the sun obliviously rose on the first day of a new age. A day that used to be filled with laughter, with lanterns, with plays, and a union between the people and the royalty. A traditional day that now lay silent, only to be celebrated by the people in secret. The prince’s birthday.

Inside the castle, this occasion was known only to the servants and the guards. Not even the prince remembered to celebrate his coming of age, not that he would be allowed to. The castle was forbidden to acknowledge the prince’s birthdays, and his eighteenth was no exception.

The prince in question was working outside in the castle courtyard. It was cold, and he had mere rags to stop him from shivering as he polished the king’s armour and chainmail.

Time and cruel servitude had left their mark on Ivory Weiss. His thick hair was shaggy, covering his eyes when he was working. His body was lean but thin. His hands were calloused and often bleeding. It was a well-known fact in the castle that Ivory was the king’s least favourite servant. He was treated cruelly, with the aggression and violence that didn’t stem from the boy’s work ethic.

The king’s ill treatment toward the boy worsened with time. The older the boy got, the less he would be fed. The taller and stronger his body became, the harsher his punishments would be. The more defined his facial structure; the brighter and more intelligent his eyes; the thicker his brows; the more handsome Ivory Weiss became, the more relentless the king’s hate towards him was.

Of course, the hidden prince had long forgotten his title; a spell cast on him when he was a child forced his former life out of his mind entirely. He knew not why the king hated him in particular. He simply tried to survive. He would not question the king when he was punished for another servant’s mistake. He would not complain when his stomach turned in on itself in hunger. He would take the king’s insults as criticism, and tried his best to better himself.

Ivory’s treatment broke the servants’ and the guards’ hearts. They did not forget the prince’s value. They hated the king’s treatment of the boy, and they hated their powerlessness against him. It took three years, six missing servants, and two executed guards for them to accept that any affiliation with the prince was fatal. The boy could not be helped.

Ivory’s lonely and difficult years in servitude could not, however, dampen his jocular nature. Yes, he found it difficult to look anyone in the eyes; yes, he was repeatedly reminded not to trust anyone and that he was not worthy of anyone’s time. He stayed out of everyone’s way and tried to remain hidden, but his spirit could not be dampened. There were times when the servants caught the handsome boy smiling- or heard the boy joke around, and they knew there was hope for the boy still. Since he was young, Ivory had always been a bright light, full of laughter and joy, with a witty humour and a breathtaking smile. The servants were glad to see that part of the boy shine through when he thought he was safe from possible aggression or scorn. It was rare, but it only mattered that it remained.

Ivory stumbled as he stood up, nausea and heat flooding through his body at the movement. The cold morning air had tightened his muscles. He had been outside during all hours of darkness because the king had ordered late last night that he wasn’t allowed to sleep until he was finished. His fingertips were blue from the cold and his clothes smelled of wax. As the sun rose, Ivory’s eyes squinted in its light. He had spent the night trying to find light in the moon to do his work. After so long in the dark, the sun made his eyes water.

He looked around, exhausted. The birds were now waking and their music made him smile. Soon, he would have to start his daily tasks and he would have no time to rest before they began.

Trying to ignore his heavy eyelids and his feverish body, he carried the king’s armour and the cleaning equipment inside, trying to be quiet as he tiptoed into the armoury. He didn’t want to wake the rest of the servants with the armour’s loud clanging. They were always tired, and their quarters were painfully close to the armoury.

When he was finished, he entered the kitchen to grab several water buckets. Ivory was the only servant strong enough to pull the water buckets out of the well anymore, so his first task was always to provide the kitchens with water fresh from the well.

He flexed his fingers, trying to rid them of the cold. Ivory loved the well. It was old, almost outdated, and made of thick rock. The well stood proud and alone, in the centre of the courtyard. It had a magnetic energy, daring anyone to approach and pull from it more than just water. This well had not moved since the castle was first built; it had an ancient, almost forbidden aura- like it had seen many, many things.

He approached the well, two buckets in each hand. Each morning when he collected the water, he hummed to the well. If anyone caught him doing it they would think of him as insane and, if the king heard him, he would have Ivory punished- but he couldn’t help it. The well seemed to draw it out of him. Whenever he hummed to the well, it returned his voice solemnly, adding only its ancient echoes. It felt as though the well was speaking to him.

The birds loved the sound of Ivory and his well. They gathered around and listened intently, drawing inspiration from the songs that the two created together. Ivory saw them now, perched opposite him while he drew out his first bucket of water, his muscles aching. Today, he was humming the kingdom’s traditional ballroom waltz- a beautiful and hopeful melody.

This morning, unbeknownst to all in the courtyard, the duet was heard by a larger audience. Just outside the castle walls, Princess Annabella and her procession caught the sound and were stopped in their tracks.

Princess Annabella recognized that voice. It moved something deep in her memories, from when she was very young. She couldn’t place the sound, and she wouldn’t realize where she had heard the sound before until her part in this story is fulfilled.

The princess was visiting the castle to honour an ancient tradition. Neither prince nor princess remembered, but Ivory and Annabella had been promised to each other from a very young age. They had spent their early youth together, playing and growing up together. They were very close, and young Annabella had been destroyed by the news of Ivory’s passing.

Now, her memories of Ivory had faded in vibrancy and she moved on. She was educated in the ways of royalty, how to rule a kingdom, how to fight and defend both herself and her people. Princess Annabella was famously formidable. Her fiery red hair and stormy grey eyes suited her personality well. Even now, as a young princess, her kingdom knew her to be just and earnest. She was known in her kingdom as the strongest military general the entire continent had ever seen.

But that was not the reason she was visiting the castle that was once home to the Weiss Dynasty. She was a member of the Florian Dynasty. Her ancestors upkept a tradition through the generations, that when the children of a marriage arrangement came of age, a betrothal ceremony would take place in the castle the arrangement had been made in. In honour of Prince Ivory’s death and in respect for her family’s traditions, Princess Annabella was journeying to the castle to visit the prince’s tombstone.

Therefore, the princess came only with a small procession, wearing a fine, black and gold gown instead of her armour. She had been in deep thought about Prince Ivory when she was interrupted by the singing. The thought that she had been promised to someone bothered her, no matter how fondly she thought of him. She did not remember him well, but held issue with the idea of an arranged marriage. Since she came of age several months ago, her parents had attempted to send suitors her way, hoping she would find a possible husband in their midst. But the princess was also known to be difficult to impress. Not many people other than her family and closest friends could draw a laugh from her lips. Her ever hard expression turned steely near suitors, and only eased inside the castle walls or among her people. She had decided long ago that she would not settle for anyone- and if that meant she would rule the kingdom alone, so be it.

She welcomed that possibility, even.

“Princess Annabella?”

Annabella shook herself out of her daze. The sound that had travelled over the thick castle walls was so beautiful, it instantly soothed her mind’s turmoil. The hum had a distinct baritone richness. The voice was clear and controlled, and always immediately followed with a deep echo. She recognized the song to be the traditional ballroom song of this kingdom.

She turned around, looking at her small procession of four. They were wearing darker clothes out of respect; all dressed formally and riding black horses. Annabella didn’t know them well. They were all her age and they were new recruits. She hadn’t wanted to take her usual, seasoned guards, even though that meant leaving her closest friends behind. In case something happened while she was away, she could trust them to defend the kingdom until she returned- even if that meant the journey would be quiet and dull.

“I’ll be right back. The rest of you, head to the castle. The king is not of the Weiss family and may not know that we are coming.” She had deliberately not sent a messenger ahead of them. From what she heard about the new king, he was tactless and lavish. This visit was one of mourning and respect, and she would not allow for it to become an excuse for extravagant celebration.

Her procession nodded and trotted passed her. As soon as they were gone, she jumped off her horse and led it around the courtyard walls, hoping to find a servant’s entrance gate.

Once she discovered a tall, almost flimsy metal gate, Annabella tied her horse to the gate before slipping through it quietly. The singing was as strong as ever. She turned back to her horse and whispered, “I’ll be right back!”

When she turned to face the courtyard again, she found a large, open space. It looked emptier than her kingdom’s servant quarters. The beige, ivy-covered brick of the castle loomed over the courtyard. To her left lay a selection of vegetable patches, to her right, some fruit trees. The soil looked rich and the plants well-kept. The ground was plated with a light-coloured rock. Familiarity struck Annabella; she knew this place, but she was too old to remember when she had been here last.

In the middle of the courtyard stood an ancient well; an audience of birds; and the most breathtaking human-being Annabella had ever seen.

She scolded herself as a torrent of emotions assaulted her. She forced them down before she could acknowledge them. That is, until she realized he had been the one singing.

She watched him briefly. He looked to be a servant, pulling buckets of water out of the well. Annabella frowned. Her kingdom had abandoned wells since plumbing was invented decades ago. She didn’t dwell on this for long, however. She watched as the boy’s thick arms pulled out another bucket. His skin was dangerously pale, contrasted by his black, wavy hair. He had three full buckets beside him, and another empty one.

She felt for the boy. He looked to be her age, but he was thin and he held himself wearily.

He was still humming absentmindedly, unaware of the power coming from his voice. Annabella stared at the birds around the boy, intrigued by their weird, docile behaviour. The scene before her was enchanting, almost ethereal. It felt like she was intruding in on something transcendental.

As he pulled out the last bucket of water, Annabella knew she had to call out to him. She was afraid she’d never see him again if she didn’t go to him now.

“Wait!” She called out to him gently as she walked to him. The birds around the well quickly took flight. Annabella watched as the servant boy jumped and whipped around. Water spilled out of the two buckets he was holding; fear clear on his face.

As she got closer, her heart pounded. She could see his eyes now and she knew she’d never see eyes like his again. They were a kaleidoscope of amber, shades of green and blue, and gold. Her usual confident and sure manner melted. She was afraid that if she’d talk, she’d make a fool of herself, so she quickly turned to pick up the remaining two water buckets.

“Let me help,” she smiled sheepishly.

The young man was staring at her is disbelief. His expression was so dumbfounded it made him look younger. Annabella scorned herself for the blush she felt creep onto her cheeks.

As soon as she picked up the buckets and turned to face him, she was glad she’d offered to help. The boy’s face was covered with a faint shade of sickly paleness, and he was sweating despite his tremors from the cold.

“Uh-” he stuttered, “Thanks- thank you.” He briefly shook his head. “Thank you. Who are you?”

“Just… A helping hand?” Annabella smiled up at him. “I- I heard your voice. I had to see...”

The boy’s face flushed furiously. “Ah.”

Annabella’s heart fluttered. She was completely out of her depth. She had _never_ acted this way before- she hadn’t even known this version of herself existed.

“Sorry!” She said before she could catch herself. The word rarely left her mouth, and she wondered why she was saying it now. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, no you didn’t,” the boy smiled, dazzling her even though it was a sad smile. This boy was a wonder- Annabella didn’t know what to make of him. He looked almost familiar, but she couldn’t place him. He appeared exhausted and starved. His hair almost fell over his sad eyes, and his shoulders were hunched over like he was trying to hide himself.

Annabella hadn’t been in this kingdom since she was ten years old. She had never interacted with this castle’s servants, and she wasn’t familiar with the kingdom’s people. Then why did she feel like she knew this boy?

They were still holding the buckets. The boy was shuffling on his feet, not wanting to catch her eye. She wondered if she made him uncomfortable and hoped that wasn’t true.

“You, uh,” he seemed unsure. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you needed to help…”

“No! Not at all!” Annabella said quickly. Suddenly she was glad it was only the two of them in the courtyard. In her kingdom she would never live down being so flustered. The boy looked at her and they held each other’s gaze. “I wanted to help.”

The boy smiled cheekily. He put his buckets down and reached for hers. Their hands touched and Annabella prayed to the sky that she wasn’t as hot as she felt. “So-” the boy said, rubbing his neck after he put her buckets down. His gorgeous eyes twinkled mischievously. “Are you implying that you travelled to the upper kingdom and singlehandedly broke into the castle grounds,” his smile became lopsided, “just to help a servant carry his buckets?”

“Oh, definitely.” Princess Annabella may be enchanted by this servant, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t return his banter. “Oh, and I should mention- while you’re letting me charm you with my sweet talking, the rest of my team is infiltrating the castle.”

The boy threw his head back and laughed. Annabella couldn’t help but chuckle herself. When he caught her eye again, he looked changed. She realized she had managed to crack him open; release him from his exhaustion and distrust- even for just a moment. The boy she saw in front of her now was assured, almost playful. She suddenly had the distinct impression he didn’t suit the rags he wore.

The laughter passed when they realized where they were. For a moment, the hidden prince and the fearless princess stood opposite one another, simply looking into each other’s eyes. No words were exchanged, neither of them moved. The answers they were looking for lay in the presence stood in front of them. For a moment, the pair had the power to see through each other. They allowed themselves the vulnerability of allowing the other to read them, to see passed their many masks and barriers. There, in the servants’ courtyard, these two strangers suddenly found that they understood each other completely. The longer they gazed at each other, the more they realized that their lives had aligned; their meeting had been predestined.

* * *

“Magic Mirror-“

_“My Lord, forgive me, but Princess Annabella is-”_

_“You_ dare _enter the Royal Chambers? You_ dare _interrupt my council?”_

_“My- my Lord, I-”_

_“Leave my sight at once, you filthy rat. Do not interrupt me again!”_

_The servant hurried out, ducking a heavy chalice that had been thrown at him._

_“Idiots…_ Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? _”_

“Famed is thy beauty, Majesty, but hold, there is one who’s beauty was long foretold. Rags cannot hide him; servitude cannot shame him. His magnificence is far greater than any splendor you can bring.”

_The king stood before the Mirror, fuming with loathing and jealousy. Deep in his heart he already knew the answer to the question he must now pose._

“Alas for him. Reveal his name!”

_The mask’s expression changed to that of sadness. It’s curse refused to spare it from the knowledge of this man’s intentions._

“Lips red as the rose. Hair black as a starless sky. Eyes the many colours of Fire Agate. Skin white as snow.

_“_ Ivory Weiss _.”_

* * *

Perhaps there is something more ironic than an omniscient Mirror, and perhaps that is two people that had been promised to each other without their knowing, torn apart by fate and circumstance, finding each other years later- completely unaware of who the other was and is.

Had Annabella experienced this sensation with anyone other than the man in front of her now, she would have fled. She would have denied its inevitability and she wouldn’t have returned. But she had rediscovered herself in his face, in his expression. She wasn’t known to believe in the spiritual, but there was no other way to explain it. She found her bravery, her virtue, her youth in his features. She also was not afraid to recognize her loneliness, her uncertainty, and her captivity there. She felt at complete rest and ease, and, as she watched him search her face, she knew he had come to the same conclusion.

The boy stepped forward gently, still looking at her with the many colours in his eyes. “I… I-”

They both jumped as the kitchen back door flung open violently. An anxious woman with greying hair hurried out, looking about her. She caught sight of the pair in the courtyard and huffed exasperatedly. “Child,” she said urgently, “I’m so sorry. The king is looking for you. He is not happy.”

The boy’s head whipped to the upper towers of the castle. There was a tremor in his voice when he asked: “what happened? What did I do?”

The woman looked apologetic and afraid. “Oh, my dear.” She looked like she wanted to hug the boy, but settled instead to touch his cheek. “Is there ever a reason?”

The woman gasped suddenly and removed her hand from his cheek. “My boy-” she moved her hand to his forehead, reaching up to his height. “You’re feverish!”

The boy swallowed painfully, both women suddenly realizing how he was swaying where he stood, ever so slightly. Annabella looked at the two. Fierce protectiveness boiled her blood. “What’s going on?”

“That blasted king- that tyrant!” The woman grumbled disdainfully. “Having you clean his armour during the night; and for what?”

The boy looked at Annabella and he put a gentle hand on the maid’s arm. For a mere second, his expression was almost pleading. It was so different to the steely resolve that overtook his face immediately after that she wondered if she had seen it. “I’m sorry Gretta and… um, miss…- I have to go to my king.”

Annabella’s heart beat frantically. She didn’t even know his name. She thought they’d have more time. “Wait-!”

He hurried away, following the older woman back into the castle. Just before he disappeared from her sight, he looked back at her once more. “I hope-” he stopped himself, then smiled slightly, “thank you, for breaking into the courtyard.”

Princess Annabella’s heart turned painfully as he vanished. Her chest filled with the discomfort of premonition.

“And I would do it over and over, if it meant I could hear your voice again.”

* * *

Ivory was scared for his life.

After he was escorted into the throne room and abandoned by all palace personnel, only he, the king, and a strong, serious woman warmed the large room.

The king looked mad. Not with fury or ambition. This madness was an expression Ivory had never seen on the king before, and this frightened him. The powerful man before him looked mad with joy; a dangerous craze filling his eyes. He looked at the boy hungrily.

“Servant boy,” the man sneered, “I have an assignment for you.”

Ivory forced himself to stay still despite the impossibility of hiding his shivers and his sweating. Dread threaded through his limbs. Those words activated every fear response, every desire to escape from this room. Those words were always followed by an impossible task and the threat of painful punishment if the task wasn’t completed to the highest standards.

“Yes, your majesty?”

The king smiled triumphantly. He loved hearing the forgotten prince utter those words; in fear of him, in rags, in complete servitude. The king stood up suddenly, smiling when the boy flinched backwards.

“You are to handpick a bouquet of wildflowers for our guests this evening.”

Ivory blinked, confused. He looked at the king, who’s face was still distorted with a wicked smile. He hadn’t even known they were expecting guests. He briefly wondered why they wouldn’t arrange for the florist for this occasion, but he was too afraid to ask the king and anger him. “Is… Is that all, your majesty?”

The king stepped off his pedestal and walked to the boy, so he was inches away from his stepson. “You are to pick them from the forest.”

Ivory’s eyes widened; he clenched his jaw in surprise. He knew he was not to look into the king’s eyes, so he looked at the ground below him, uncomfortable with the king’s close proximity.

The forest was forbidden to the kingdom. It was rumoured to be full of evil and dangerous magical creatures. It was an unsafe venture, and although Ivory spent no time with the people of the kingdom, he shared their fear towards the place. People had been driven mad by the forest, even just by living close to its borders.

“Is there a problem with that, _boy_?”

Ivory closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to slow his heart rate; he wiped his shaking hands on his clothes. “No, your majesty.”

“You look afraid.”

Every instinct Ivory had was screaming at his to distance himself from the king. He stared past the older man.

The king’s twisted smile darkened on his face. “Don’t fret, _Ivory_ -” the boy froze at the king’s whisper. The king never used his name, and Ivory immediately wished he hadn’t used it now. It felt like a threat; like it was the last time he would ever have use for the name. “The hunter behind me is the best in the land.” Ivory had forgotten that they weren’t alone in the room. He looked at the stony-faced woman now, watching them carefully. The king was still whispering in Ivory’s ear, and the boy couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. “ _She’ll_ protect you.”

At those words, the king stepped back slightly and Ivory felt himself breathe again. The older man reached forward, ignoring Ivory’s step backwards as he caressed the boy’s hair gently. Ivory’s heart pounded in alarm.

“Leave us.”

The huntswoman left the room quietly. The king stared at the boy before him, holding his beautiful, black hair in his fingers. The boy was equal in height to him now. The king had long forgotten his stepson’s age, and had been surprised to hear that Princess Annabella had come to pay her respects to the dead prince’s coming of age.

Rage fed his hate. He remembered the sound of the Mirror speaking Ivory’s name. He looked at the boy in front of him and could not deny his beauty. He closed his fist around the boy’s hair and relished in the boy’s pain.

“Such lovely hair.” He tightened his grip at every word and Ivory could only flinch. The king glared at the familiar sight of Ivory’s eyes shut tightly, his mouth refusing to release sounds of pain.

He hated it. He hated the boy. He hated the Mirror. He hated his kingdom and his servants. He hated the boy above all else. The boy and his lovely black hair.

The king pulled Ivory to his side by his hair as he unsheathed his dagger in a swift movement. He held the squirming boy still as he cried out. Satisfaction filled the king upon seeing how _scared_ the boy was.

“Ma-majesty?”

“ _Silence._ ”

Ivory grunted in pain as he was held upright. His scalp burned. He tried to escape the king’s grasp, but all the movement made him weak and nauseous. He was too hot; he was too scared. His muscles ached. He wondered if he was really awake. Ivory saw the king’s dagger and recoiled from it.

“No! no, no, no- please, please your majesty. Whatever- I’m sorry! _Please!_ ”

“Stay still!” The king shook the boy. He laughed as he realized the boy thought he was going to kill him here, within castle walls.

_If only it were that easy._

He raised his dagger as Ivory steeled himself, trembling in fear. The king lifted the boy’s hair and swiftly cut it off, the sharp dagger slicing effortlessly through the hair.

They both watched as the hair floated to the ground. The sight of it inspired the king further. He lifted more hair, slicing through it mercilessly. His heart leaped at the prospect of it, the hair falling to the wooden floor. He continued until the boy’s head of hair was cut short, the luscious, black hair laying instead on his shoulders or on the ground.

Ivory simply stood as the king sliced his hair off. He had calmed significantly when he realized it wasn’t the king’s intention to kill him, moving only when the dagger nicked his ear and blood dripped down the side of his face and neck. He was so relieved to be alive that he didn’t even recognize his own confusion. He simply stood still, with his eyes closed, willing himself not to vomit as his skin burned and his heart hammered.

Neither of them spoke a word until the king was finished with his task. Ivory briefly wondered why his hair was being cut off- not that it made a difference to him; he was useless before his hair was cut, and he’s useless now.

The king reviewed his work. There was black hair all around the boy. The hair still attached to the boy’s scalp was uneven and short. It should’ve looked ridiculous; the boy should’ve looked unkempt and ragged. The king’s hold on his dagger tightened as he realized that not only did the cut fail to take away the boy’s beauty, it revealed the full beauty that had been hidden behind his long hair.

Ivory shivered when he heard the king growl. He wasn’t to look the man in the eyes, but he could imagine them glaring at him.

“Get out.”

The voice was so low, Ivory almost didn’t hear it. He sped to the door as quickly as his feverish body would take him.

“OUT!”

Ivory shut the door behind him before he heard the sound of something smashing against it.

* * *

“Oh, my dear! Your hair! And you’re bleeding!”

Ivory gave Gretta a reassuring smile. The older woman looked hazy in his sight. She was moving too fast for his eyes to focus on.

“’s not as bad as it looks.”

Gretta sighed and walked towards him with her arms stretched out. “You always say that.”

Ivory blinked. His feverish body was playing tricks on his eyes, making it seem as though Gretta was getting bigger and bigger in front of him. He remembered her to be a head smaller than him, so why was she towering over him now? He was sweating in fear. “Let me feel your forehead, darling- see how you’re doing.”

Ivory stumbled backwards. She was so tall she almost reached the kitchen ceiling. Ivory leant backwards into the sink he had been standing against. “Wait-”

She reached out with her large hands and touched his forehead. Her hands were freezing cold; it was unbearable on his skin. He heard her gasp and he slid around her quickly, eager to escape the giant woman. His legs were aching. He needed to sit down, but he had to go into the forest to collect the flowers. The huntswoman was waiting for him at the courtyard gate.

“My child, you are very sick! Where are you going?”

Ivory stumbled out of the kitchen. He opened the door into the courtyard quickly, keeping a wary eye on the large woman. “Uh- out. King- king said he needs flowers from- from the f-, from the forest?”

The large woman walked to him in distress. He fumbled with the door to shut it behind him as he heard her scream: “you can’t-!”

He hurried away and left through the courtyard gate before she could follow him. The sun was too bright on his eyes. He couldn’t focus on anything. He walked in the direction of the forest, not even checking to see if the hunter was following him. Only until he was halfway to the forest an hour later would he check behind him and see her following him threateningly, causing him to speed up.

All he saw were white spots and shadows. Everything was either too big or too small. He was sweating. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. As he hiked up the never-ending hill to the forest, he became skittish, convinced there was danger around him.

His body was dangerously flushed. His clothes were soaked through with sweat which only made him colder and ache more. He could feel his muscles slowly giving up- the movement was making him so tired; so nauseous.

When they reached the top of the hill, he stumbled around for a moment. He heard noises both far away and extremely loud and realized the hunter was trying to speak to him. Before he could turn around, he felt his stomach contract painfully. He doubled over and vomited onto the grass, falling onto his hands.

For a moment he stayed in this position. He tried to focus on the grass beneath him, but it kept shifting. He wished the huntswoman would stop talking. Her voice clanged in his mind.

The huntswoman watched the boy in silence. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do.

This morning, she had been ordered to come to the castle on urgent business. She had been promised gold and food, the two precious currencies in the starving kingdom. Now, she was standing at the edge of the notoriously unforgiving forest, about to kill a boy so ill he had fallen to the ground.

That was not all, however. She had never been contracted to kill a human-being before. While she had refrained from asking the tyrant king any questions, she was confused why the king would want to kill a servant in such a discreet way when he regularly executed guards and other servants whenever he pleased.

It was when she heard the king talk to the servant- when the man leaned forward and called the pale boy _Ivory_ \- that she knew…

She had been contracted to kill the heir of the Weiss Dynasty.

She had watched him as he walked ahead of her, stumbling in the direction of the forest. He was dangerously ill. He couldn’t walk in a straight line and he was skinny and sweating profusely.

She didn’t know what to do.

She thought back to a time when the true king and queen ruled the kingdom. Their rule was strong, and the kingdom thrived. Their beautiful and talented son was well-loved by the people; the little boy was the delight of the kingdom. His death washed pain over the people, and there were many that were convinced the tyrant had killed the boy. Still, there had been a select few that believed the rumours of the prince’s enslavement; at the time, the hunter wrote that off as wishful thinking.

Now, eight years later, the huntswoman discovers the boy had truly been alive, forced into servitude, starved, and mistreated. She hadn’t asked about the boy’s hair, or the blood on his face; even if she had, she doubted the boy would hear her. Yet, there was no doubt that this was Ivory Weiss. He was older, paler, and forced into silence, but he still shone like a rare stone.

The people still mournfully celebrated his birthday, and in the kingdom below the huntswoman knew they were already preparing for the party. The king had forbidden it, but the yearly celebration was a symbol of rebellion against the new rule. The boy was eighteen this year. He had come of age. He should be taking the throne.

The huntswoman made up her mind. She walked forward slowly and helped the boy up. He struggled weakly and the hunter knew he saw her as a threat. She had suffered from fever induced hallucinations before.

She wasn’t going to kill the prince.

But he couldn’t stay in the kingdom.

She didn’t know what to do.

She had seen Princess Annabella leave the castle discreetly before she was ordered to kill the prince. Annabella and Ivory had been close from birth. She was a friend to the true throne.

The huntswoman squared her shoulders. The boy was slumped against her and groaned painfully when she picked him up. He was taller than her, but he was starved and light. She carried him in his arms and walked into the familiar forest, the humidity and darkness enveloping them both.

She had to alert Princess Annabella. She had to alert the people. The tyrant king could not go on ruining and exploiting the kingdom. As soon as Prince Ivory was safe, she would tell the king she had completed her mission and then set off to the kingdom of Florian.

_But where to put the ill prince?_

The huntress grimaced. She knew exactly where to put him. It was risky, but it was the only option.

_Hopefully the creatures are still loyal to the true prince._

* * *

“Sir! Prince Ivory, please wake up!”

Ivory groaned. His head was pounding. He muscles felt flayed. The ground beneath him was cold.

“Prince Ivory!”

“’m not…” Ivory mumbled.

Something cold and urgent was touching the side of his neck and shaking him slightly. It made his teeth rattle and his brain fuzzy.

“Stop… please.”

He’d been woken up from terrible, feverish dreams. His sleep had been sporadic, and he’d woken up many times to darkness and danger. He dimly remembered feeling as though he had been held against his will and couldn’t break free no matter how much he struggled. He saw things in the forest that scared him and that followed him into his dreams: evil, red eyes; terrifying screeches and growls; trees growing before his eyes, their branches reaching to grab him as he yelled and flailed.

He opened his eyes despite how much he wanted to sleep. He finally recognized his illness and knew his fever was worse. He wondered if he would survive another day.

Daylight tortured his eyes. He wanted to hold up a hand to shield his eyes but could not lift his arms.

“Prince Ivory.”

Ivory groaned and looked up at the voice. He recognized that face, he was sure of it. He’d seen her in his dreams, restraining his arms and carrying him through the treacherous forest. The huntswoman.

Even if he had wanted to run from her, he was too weak to move.

“My prince, we are here.”

Ivory didn’t know who she was talking to, nor could he see where ‘here’ was. The sun was too bright. He only saw the woman and his legs before him, everything else was washed in yellow light.

The woman mumbled to herself and sniffed in frustration. “You can’t move, can you?”

Ivory felt his eyes close. He realized he wouldn’t mind if today was his last day. He just wanted to rest.

Somewhere outside of his head, he heard a distressed voice. He was slipping in and out of consciousness- so he couldn’t tell if it was coming from far away or right beside him.

“No, no, no… Have to get you inside…. Not home, can’t just break in… can’t believe I’m doing this…”

The huntswoman knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She was in a cozy clearing in the forest, next to a small cottage she recognized as the dwarves’ home. They were territorial, defensive creatures, and she didn’t know how kindly they would take to an ill boy in their beds when they came back from the mines. She huffed to herself. _This is the only option._

She walked to the little door of the house and tried the handle. The door, obviously, was locked. She knew it would be, but a small part of her hated the idea of violating the dwarves’ privacy; after all the things that had been done to them under the new rule…

She looked back at the ill prince, slumped against a tree. In more ways than one, the poor boy had suffered the most under the rule of the tyrant king.

Her mind was made up.

Ivory jumped in his sleep when the huntress broke open the door to the dwarves’ house. In his dream, the sound had been made by a cell door; a mixed-up memory of his time in the dungeons. He moaned his pleads.

The huntress walked back to him and avoided his defensive arms. She’d been doing it all throughout yesterday and during the night. The boy was more ill than she had initially thought, and finding the dwarves’ house had been difficult.

“Alright Prince Ivory. I don’t know if you can hear me, but you need to know.” She held his arms to his sides and shook him gently. He groaned. The huntswoman prayed he could hear her. “I’m leaving you here. You cannot return to the castle. The king ordered me to kill you- he wants you dead.” She shook him again and hated the discomfort she was causing him. “The king will kill you- please hear me. The king _will kill you_ if you return.”

She picked the boy up as he squirmed and tried not to hit either of their heads as she carried him through the tiny doorway. She’d seen the cottage before, but never from the inside.

It was an absolute mess. Small, intricately crafted wooden chairs and tables were covered with old clothes and past meals. The fireplace was covered in soot. Spiderwebs and dust aged the beautiful cottage. Even the famously disorganized huntress wrinkled her nose at the sight.

“No, don’t. Don’t. I can, I c-cannnn, mm.”

The boy was dreaming again. He often talked in his dreams, saying as much as his mouth had strength to say; defensive sounds that the huntswoman didn’t know if they were aimed towards her or if they came from memory. She was struck again that the king had gotten away with this for eight years.

Fury filled her arms with strength. She saw a staircase and climbed it, hoping to find a place for Prince Ivory to sleep. Alas, the second floor consisted only of seven short beds and wardrobes. She set the boy down on the nearest bed and quickly turned to the others. She pushed four beds into each other to form a full-sized bed, keeping an eye on the prince to make sure he didn’t fall off the short bed. When she was done, she lifted the prince again and laid him down length-wise on the four beds.

The boy looked so small as he sighed gratefully. She saw the shocked faces of her colleagues in her mind if they saw her now, gently stroking the boy’s cheeks and tucking him into several duvets. Luckily, she was the only sane person in the room, otherwise she would never live this down.

The huntswoman straightened up quickly. She didn’t know when the dwarves would be home, and would rather Ivory not be alone when they did, but she had to tell Princess Annabella about the prince. The boy was deathly ill and would need her aid if he were to escape the tyrant king.

_Hopefully,_ she thought, _the dwarves will take him in. Please take him in._

Suddenly Prince Ivory was alone in the cottage, shivering in his tortured sleep.

* * *

Ivory didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to sleep forever, or at least until his body stopped hurting. Voices around him pulled him out of his slumber, no matter how much he fought it. They were saying odd things- Ivory wondered who they were talking about.

“He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he?”

“He’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful? Ugh, he’s a man! That’s how they get you- all men are poison.”

“Hush, Mood! You’ll wake the boy up!”

“Let him wake up! He’s on _my_ bed!”

“He’s on everyone’s bed!”

Ivory frowned in his disturbed sleep. Groaning, he forced himself to remove the duvet on top of him.

“He’s waking up! He’s moving! What do we do?”

“Hide!”

Ivory heard commotion as he opened his eyes and rubbed them. He was confused. He remembered shivering, aching, sweating. He remembered being ill as if it were all a distant memory. He looked at his arms- they weren’t aching anymore. He no longer felt hot. _Had it all been a dream?_

He looked around him and realized he had no idea where he was. The room was made of wooden furniture. Dressers and clothes were scattered everywhere, and seven small beds took up most of the room. He realized that he was taking up four of these beds and jerked out of the foreign bed. When he did, he heard gasps of surprise behind the dressers and stared at them.

As he did, seven hats of different colours seemed to grow out of the dressers, followed by curious eyes and bushy hair.

Ivory stumbled into the wall behind him. He had no idea where he was or who he was with.

“Hello?”

The little hats gasped and disappeared behind the dressers again.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ivory smiled despite himself. “Who are you guys?”

“You’re in our house!” A brown hat and an angry fist answered him.

“Moody! Be quiet!” Scolded another brown hat.

“Sorry!” Ivory tried to stop smiling. It was weird. He seemed to be intruding, but the owners of the house were the size of children and apparently very scared of him. Another strange feeling washed over him. He was smiling; he felt safe here. “I don’t really know where I am. Maybe if you guys show me the way, I can go back to-”

“No!” A blue hat popped up on Ivory’s right. Under it was what Ivory realized was a dwarf- he had never seen one before because the king had banished them. He stared at the dwarf. She had greying, bushy hair, braided messily down her shoulder. She looked kind and was plump. Immediately after she called out to him, she slumped in on herself shyly and corrected herself: “I- I mean, please stay?”

“Yes!” Another hat rose up to reveal a female dwarf, this one with a long ponytail down her back and a rosy nose and cheeks. “Stay!”

Ivory beamed at them and they giggled to themselves.

“What?” The angry, shaking fist was attached to a stern-looking dwarf, with white hair and deep frown wrinkles. “He broke into our house!”

“I swear I didn’t!” Ivory frowned, trying to remember the day before. “I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Moody, he doesn’t even got how he know here- I mean, I mean, he doesn’t even know how he got here,” an older, intelligent looking dwarf with glasses popped up, appealing to the angry dwarf. “He needs help.”

Moody huffed in exasperation.

“Why is there blood on your face?” A dwarf with her white hair covered with a blue hat and tucked into a curly bun asked, her voice lazy and her eyes closing.

“Uh-?” Ivory had completely forgotten his odd encounter with the king. His injured ear smarted when he touched it gingerly.

“What did I tell you? He’s a guy! Nothing but trouble, those men. He’s got blood on his face!”

Two more dwarves popped up and the rest collectively shushed Moody.

A chubby dwarf with a big smile on her face turned to him with her hands clasped together and her eyelids fluttering. “I think he’s real nice.”

The dwarf beside her nodded enthusiastically. She was clearly the youngest dwarf, with short black hair tied into two low buns and extremely baggy clothes. Ivory smiled at her and she blushed furiously, running to hide behind the chubby dwarf.

Ivory looked around him. “What are your names?”

“That’s none of your business-!”

“-that’s Moody.” Ivory laughed when the bespectacled dwarf cut in.

“You think my name’s funny?” Moody glared at him. Ivory realized too late that ‘Moody’ was really her name, not just a fitting description.

“Oh, uh-”

“Don’t mind him,” The bespectacled dwarf waved Moody off. “Mood’s always like this at first- she’ll warm up to you! I’m Doc!”

Doc turned and pointed at the first dwarf Ivory had seen and the one with the rosy cheeks and nose. “This is Meeky and Stuffy!” She announced proudly, loud enough to be heard through Stuffy’s hefty sneeze.

Ivory chuckled as Stuffy looked up at him sheepishly. He found it endearing that their names described each of them very well.

“I’m Smiley! And this is Dazey and Groggy!” The chubby dwarf beamed as she pointed to the youngest dwarf and another dwarf in mid-yawn. “Dazey here don’t talk much.” Smiley exclaimed excitedly.

“Why not?” Ivory studied Dazey. She looked younger, for sure, but while the others looked to be middle-aged with their grey and white hair, Dazey definitely didn’t look like a child- maybe a young adult.

“We don’t know- she never tried!”

Dazey batted her eyelashes at Ivory and blushed as the rest of the dwarves laughed. Ivory looked at them all, fascinated with how comfortable they looked with each other.

“Say, dear, are we glad to see you standing. You were mighty ill for a bit there!” Stuffy said absentmindedly, rubbing her nose until it deepened in colour.

“What? What do you mean?”

Moody huffed. “Doc used the last of our magic medicine herbs on you, boy. You’d probably be dead otherwise if-”

“What’s _your_ name?” Meeky smiled sweetly.

Ivory wanted to ask Moody what she meant. Flashes from the night before hit him suddenly, and he remembered being carried through the forest… Not being able to move.

_The king will kill you if you return._

“Uh, my- my name is Ivory.”

Gasps pulled him out of his thoughts.

“ _Ivory?_ ”

“Ivory Weiss?”

“The dead prince?”

“I knew it! I told you he was alive!”

Ivory shook his head. Memories of the woman that had carried him through the forest bounded around in his mind. She had called him prince also. “No, no, I’m not a prince.”

Groggy squinted. “You are far more handsome than they say.”

Moody crossed her arms and turned to face the other side of the room. “Bah!”

Ivory felt his face grow hot. “I’m not- uh, thanks, but I’m not-”

“A scandal…” Doc rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “An up cover!”

“A cover up.” The other dwarves corrected her wearily.

“A cover up!” Doc frowned. “Why, that no-good, crafty, sneaky king!”

“And does it matter who he is?” Moody barked at the walls. “He’ll bring nothing but trouble. I say we throw him out!”

Ivory’s heart pounded. _The king will kill you if you return._

“Look, Moody. I’m sorry if I offended you, but please don’t throw me out.” As he pleaded with the angry dwarf, he was conscious of the others’ sad stares. “The king wants me dead, and I-”

“Dead?” They repeated. It was enough to turn Moody back around.

“You’re going to bring the king’s wrath onto us!” She accused. “The king will have us killed! He’s all-powerful!”

The other dwarves quivered in fear. Ivory looked around in desperation. “Please- only for a little while? I can… I can cook and clean! I’m pretty good too! The king doesn’t even know where I am!” Ivory paused, then mumbled, “ _I_ don’t even know where I am.”

“I’m sure you can-”

Moody interrupted Doc excitedly. She knew she had the others scared. “The king can easily find you if he wants! He has black magic! He can turn invisible.” Moody gasped theatrically, making Dazey jump, “he might even be here right now…”

Ivory looked at his feet. He had been on the receiving end of that black magic many times before. If he stayed, he was putting the dwarves in danger. He felt selfish for thinking of it.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled at them, “You’re right, Moody. Thanks for letting me sleep here for the day.”

Ivory hurried passed them and shuffled down the stairs. He knew he had nowhere to go, but he couldn’t impose on the dwarves any longer. He heard a murmuring behind him and blushed deeply, hoping they weren’t talking about him.

“Wait! Ivory, wait!” The dwarves called out in unison.

Ivory watched as one-by-one they filled the top of the staircase. He looked up at them.

“Stay, Ivory!” Groggy pleaded.

“We want you to stay.” Doc said before Ivory could reply. “We’re out all day in the mines and never have time to clean or cook. Please clean us out- I mean- cook us out- I mean, help us out!”

Ivory hesitated. He was bringing danger to the dwarves the longer he was here. He’d have to find another place to go soon.

He looked to the back of the staircase, where Moody stood, looking both hopeful and defeated. “Is everyone okay with me staying?”

Moody glared at Ivory, but he was starting to notice something soft behind her eyes. “Ah, whatever, pretty boy.”

* * *

The next morning, Ivory woke up earlier than the dwarves to make them breakfast. He got up from his bed by the fire made of extra duvets and pillows and folded them up neatly. After making a loaf of bread from scratch and placing it in the fireplace to bake, he left the cottage to pick fruit and berries.

Finally, he saw where they were. The cottage was placed in the middle of a large clearing. A drinking fountain stood in front of the house, as well as the remnants of past bonfires and plenty of berry bushes. A large enclosure behind the cottage revealed a couple of goats grazing on their hay. The forest looked beautiful in the light of sunrise, and Ivory relished in the fresh air.

After filling the wicker basket, he washed its contents and returned to the cottage to checked on the bread. It was perfectly golden. He placed it on the table and set to make jam out of the berries he had picked. The sight of the food made his stomach ache painfully, and he wondered when he’d last eaten.

When that was done, he searched for butter, or even milk, and was delighted to accidentally stumble over the handle of an underground cooler. It was almost empty, and Ivory decided he would fill it after his chores.

Ivory enjoyed being in the cottage. It was his first morning here, and, even though he was still doing chores, he relished in the feeling of safety that enveloped him. He felt relaxed and happy, and almost felt guilty for it.

He had just set down a pitcher of water when he heard heavy footsteps upstairs. The dwarves were awake and hungry. One after another, they bounded down the stairs excitedly.

“What’s that smell?”

“mmm- I smell bread.”

“It smells good, too!”

“Yeah, not like Groggy’s!”

“Hey!”

The little women laughed as they greeted Ivory and took their seats.

“Wow!” Meeky rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “Thank you, Ivy!”

Ivory beamed at her as he sat, crossed legged on the ground, reaching the table with ease. “Dig in!”

The rest of the morning consisted of Ivory braiding hair and seeing the dwarves off to work. They left in song- a cheerful melody that they walked and sang to in unison.

Ivory smiled as he watched them leave. He was so grateful for them.

When they were gone, he returned to the house to clean the dishes. As he did, he hummed one of his favourite melodies- one he remembered from when he was very young. He was alone, and so allowed himself to be as loud as he could.

When the dishes were cleaned and put away, Ivory opened the front door to find a broom and jumped so hard he hit his shoulders on the miniscule door frame.

Outside, peaking out from bushes, trees, and rocks, was the largest collection of animals he had ever seen. They slowly came back out from their hiding spot, and Ivory forced himself to stop gaping at them. Deer, stags, squirrels, rabbits, racoons, birds, and many more animals craning their necks to look at him. He stared at them and they stared at him, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, a little robin flew to him and perched itself on top of the broom in his hand. It tweeted a sweet melody, and Ivory could’ve sworn it was the same melody as the song he had been humming.

Holding the broom still so as to not scare the little bird, he hummed the melody back at the bird. Then, another bird joined them on his shoulder, then another perched on the drinking foundation, then on the windowsill, all singing that melody. He suddenly remembered the courtyard well; the spirit of it seemed to have followed him here. Ivory saw the other animals join them, their reserve melting at every step.

He was deeply confused, but happily so. The animals warmed up to him quickly and, while singing together, they helped Ivory complete his chores. The squirrels picked more berries and fruit for jam; the rabbits dusted the furniture; the racoons collected the dwarves’ dirty clothes and the stags allowed Ivory to hang the clothes on their antlers after the deer dunked the clothes in the drinking well.

Had Ivory known when he was young that he would one day complete his chores with the help of forest animals, he would’ve gone insane with excitement.

* * *

_“Magic Mirror on the wall, who_ now _is the fairest of them all?”_

The king was ecstatic; more elated than he’d even been. The huntswoman had returned with a bloody heart in a pouch. _Ivory Weiss is dead_ , and he couldn’t wait to hear the Mirror speak his name and crown him with the glory of beauty.

The Mirror looked pained. It was haunting, the expression of sorrow a mere mask could reflect. The Mirror was all-knowing, and had to live with the burden of the actions his answer would incite in the hands of a mad, tyrant king.

_“Over the seven jewelled hills, beyond the seventh fall, in the cottage of the seven dwarfs, dwells Ivory Weiss, fairest one of all.”_

The king smiled, giddy with anticipation. He took the pouch in his hands, relishing in the feeling of Ivory’s blood running down his hands and onto the carpet beneath him. _The boy is gone. The boy is no longer._

_“That_ boy _lies dead in the forest. The huntswoman brought me proof. Look, his bloody heart in-”_

_“Ivory Weiss still lives, the_ fairest _in the land. That’s the heart of a pig you hold in your hand.”_

A sharp breath caught in the king’s throat. The memory of the huntswoman giving him the pouch flooded his mind. The memory of Ivory, hair cut short and bleeding, joined the huntswoman. The guards outside his royal chambers now, he could just see them- all of them- the huntswoman, that _boy_ , the guards, all laughing at him, all taking him for a fool.

The king looked at the heart in his hands. He took it out of the pouch and squeezed it. The more he squeezed, the more the laughing in his head quietened. He tore at the heart and a smile formed on his face. He’d been going about ruling this kingdom all wrong. He was a wizard. He was being too merciful. If he wanted, he could tear his subjects apart. He could separate families, make parents watch as their children burned. He could kill Ivory himself, and then he’d be the most powerful wizard in the world.

“Loyalty…” The king murmured, “no loyalty…”

“ _My lord?”_ The Magic Mirror broke the king out of his reverie.

_“You.”_ The king focused on the Mirror, hate spewing from him like water from a broken dam. Fitting, it was, as that name- _Ivory Weiss_ , that boy’s legacy, had finally driven the king over the edge. His control was broken, his inhibitions relinquished. He stared at the object that kept him a slave to his own kingdom for years. Too long, too long had he been undermined. _“You made me_ weak _.”_

The Mirror sighed in relief. Its being was a cursed existence. It knew what those words inevitably led to, and couldn’t bring itself to find fear within. It was time, finally time to rest.

The king stalked to the Magic Mirror one last time. “ _You made me a_ slave _; in my own KINGDOM_!”

The king punched right through the enchanted glass and was surprised at the silence with which the Magic Mirror shattered. The shards cut into his skin, and, from them, the shimmering gold essence of the Mirror seeped into the cuts in his arm, turning his veins black.

The king laughed at the sight. _Another cursed defence spell_.

“Guards!”

Two guards entered the Royal Chambers to the sight of the tyrant king, laughing as black blood dripped from his arm, shattered glass around him, a bloody pouch nestled in his left hand. They looked afraid. _As they should be_.

“I am ordering the execution of the huntswoman that brought me this heart. Seek her out and avenge the treason she committed. Be blind to her tears, deaf to her pleas.”

The guards looked at each other, horror distorting their faces.

“Are you questioning my command?” The king seethed. “Do this, or my next order of execution will be onto your families!”

The guards scrambled to the door.

“One last thing!” The guards came to a quick stop and faced the king once more. “I want you to bring me her _head_.”

The king turned as he heard the guards leave. He was finally alone.

“As for _dear Ivory_ … Perhaps a fate worse than mere death…”

* * *

“Princess Annabella! A huntswoman is here- from the Weiss Kingdom, she wishes to speak with you. ”

Annabella turned to her second-in-command and gave her a curt nod- an order to take over the training drills. They had been teaching the new warriors how to fight cavalry from the ground. She would be sad to miss it, but the mention of the Weiss Kingdom always caught her attention.

Annabella dismounted her beautiful, sleek, black horse and handed the reins to her handmaid for the moment. She would return later to tend to her horse.

The drills continued behind her as she walked to the castle with the messenger. “What is it?”

The messenger scoffed. “She wouldn’t say, princess. All she told me was that it was urgent.”

Annabella hummed in the affirmative as her mind wandered to the Weiss Kingdom. She hoped all was well. Even under the rein of the new incompetent king, the Weiss Kingdom was a close ally to the Florian Kingdom. Their history and alliance took root long before her parents were born.

The messenger and the princess climbed the steps to the castle and watched as the doors were opened to them. Annabella’s leather boots muffled her steps on the pearly floor of the throne room.

There, facing her seated parents, stood a short, strong woman. Her clothes were old and ragged. When she turned to see the princess, her face was taut, almost afraid.

“Your Majesties- thank you for seeing me,” she bowed slightly.

The queen smiled at her gently, “What urgent news to you bring, huntswoman?”

The huntswoman locked eyes with Princess Annabella as the princess walked to her parents’ side.

“Prince Ivory is alive- though I fear, not for much longer…”

* * *

“So, I’m a prince?”

Ivory was sat by the bonfire outside of the cottage. It had taken a while, but with the help of the dwarves, they finally got a fire going. It kept them warm as they talked.

“How did you not know that?” Moody scoffed.

“Uh-”

“Ivory, why did everyone think you were-” Stuffy held her nose tightly, face scrunched up in concentration, “dead?”

Ivory stared into the fire. “I don’t know…”

He tried to think of his childhood. The dwarves, full of food and sleepy with contentment (except Groggy- she was actually sleeping upright on the log,) had told him what they remember of him and his parents when they were alive. The dwarves had lived amongst the people. The kingdom had thrived- the people were happy. The young prince and his parents were well loved, and were deeply mourned when death seemed to pick them one at a time.

Ivory shook his head. It was too long ago; he couldn’t remember anything.

Ivory’s heart stopped.

_Was really it too long ago?_

Painful flashes of memory shook him. His earliest memory was of his father’s passing, but it was foggy and distressing. Then, his mother’s passing… did they die days after each other? Had there been a funeral? Ivory’s heart squeezed. How could he not remember his parents?

From deep in his mind, dark memories threatened to surface. They were only allowed to surface by fluke, because his feverish mind had dreamt about them. Ivory’s head ached. He did not know this, but evil magic was forcing these memories down, leaving him with only flashes of his month in the dungeons, chained and hurt, as weak both mentally and physically as possible to take his memories- his identity away.

“Are you okay, Ivory?” Meeky caught his eye, her ever-present blush colouring her cheeks. At the question, Dazey, who had been snoozing with her head on Ivory’s lap, looked up at him with big doe eyes.

He looked at the dwarves in front of him and smiled worriedly. He was grateful to them. He owed his life to them; they had shown him a true home. The food and warmth of the cottage did Ivory well. He was strong and fit; His skin had gained a healthy colour back; his hair was cut evenly- though still short, and he no longer flinched in fear. He felt safe here, and had gotten to love his little roommates after only a couple of days of living with them.

But something was nagging at Ivory. He was a prince. He _is_ a prince. He had to believe that, because the kingdom he didn’t even know was his, the kingdom that he had been forbidden to see, needed him. The king was a tyrant, Ivory knew that more than most. He was starving the humans and banishing the rest.

Ivory had no memory of his life as royalty, but he had to believe it. It was on _him_ to save his land.

“Why are you- I mean when are you- I mean… what are you thinking, dear boy?” Doc’s familiar stutter bought his eyes up from the fire. He locked eyes with Moody, who was studying the prince intently.

The dwarves were clearly exhausted, as they always were after a long day in the mines. His heart was very fond of them all- he couldn’t involve them in this; it was too dangerous. His mind was made up. _Tonight, then._ Ivory grinned.

“That maybe it’s time to get to bed.”

They hummed in agreement

The dwarves said their sleepy goodnights to Ivory as they shuffled passed him to the cottage. Ivory stayed outside to put out the fire and was glad he had hugged them all for what could be the last time. He would miss them greatly.

“Ivory,” a voice whispered to him.

Ivory turned from the fire to see Moody, already in her pyjamas. Her hand were holding something behind her back. Without the fire, Ivory strained to see her. “Moody? What-?”

“I want you to have this,” she replied in hushed tones. From behind her back, she brought out a beautiful dagger made of opal and white bone. It shone in the light of the moon. “Been making this since… Well, it doesn’t matter. I want you to have it.”

Ivory’s ears flushed. He wondered if Moody knew what he was planning. He received the dagger gently. “Thank you, Moody. I don’t think I could ever-”

“Yeah, yeah, pretty boy,” Moody blushed. She looked up at him earnestly, concern revealing the wisdom in her eyes. “Just… be careful.”

She gave Ivory another quick hug and vanished into the darkness of the cottage.

* * *

The night was dark and the air was cold. The sounds of the forest came alive in the night, and the shadows grew from the moonlight like memories of the day.

Two figures wandered the forest that night, whose destinies had been intertwined with threads of blood and pain since their birth.

Blind they were to the ways of the forest. They were lost, searching for one another, oblivious to the other’s presence. But the forest knew; the forest knows all. The trees formed new paths; the bushes led the way. The two figures were destined to find each other; but only one was destined to stay.

* * *

“Hello?”

Ivory shivered. His ratty clothes did little to keep the cold out, and he was sure he was lost. The various creaks and shrieks of the nights did little to calm his nerves, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, aren’t you a fine young man?”

Ivory froze and forced himself not to scream. He tightened his grip on the dagger in his pocket as he turned around.

“Scared, dear?”

An elderly, hunched-over man with a cane walked into the clearing that Ivory occupied. The man walked slowly, the moonlight from above highlighting his wrinkled and hooded eyes. He wore a black cloak, and had a basket of fruit hanging from his arm.

“Hello, sir.” Ivory shuffled on his feet. While he was glad he wasn’t alone, he was haunted with the premonition of danger. “Are you lost?”

“Yes, dear boy, I am.” The man indicated to the basket on his arm. “I need to get these to my son; he lives here, in the forest, but night fell before I could find him.”

Ivory gave the man a shaky smile. “I’m lost too. I need to get back to the castle. If I knew where I was, I would help you- I’m sorry.”

“To the castle, you say?” The man’s voice was hoarse. The intense way he was staring at Ivory made the prince’s skin crawl. “Whatever for?”

“Uh-”

Ivory stepped back. Old feelings of fear and distrust washed through him. Something about the man in front of him felt _familiar_.

“Why don’t you try one of my apples here, I’d love to see if you like them.” The man stepped forward, following Ivory. The boy’s heart was pounding. He looked at the apple in the old, wrinkled hand. The veins on the hand had turned black, and the colour seemed to stretch to his neck. The man was wearing a ring. He recognized that ring. He knew this man.

“No- no thanks-” Ivory stumbled away from the man’s twisted smile. He hated himself for falling into the same fear, the same panic. The hand that controlled the dagger in his pocket was stiff, completely useless. He should’ve known. Only one person could scare him like this.

Before he could run from the clearing, one word made him freeze. He remembered the last time that word had come from those lips. It was said in a threatening, almost sing-song tone; predatory in nature, like the man had already won.

“ _Ivory_.”

Ivory turned around stiffly. The old man still stood there, but when he spoke, it was with the king’s voice.

“I know what you were going to do, Ivory.”

Anger thawed his body. He looked at the man that had stolen everything from him. “You don’t deserve the kingdom,” he spat.

The old man laughed darkly. “And you do?”

“You stole the throne. You killed my parents.”

“Be careful now, Ivory.” The man held out a bright red apple. It seemed to shine beyond the light the moon had to offer. “If I were you, I’d take the apple.”

Ivory sneered at him. “You want to kill me.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to kill you, boy. I’m giving you an out.”

Ivory laughed. He turned away and started walking out of the clearing. “You know you’ve lost.”

“If you do not eat this apple, I will set fire to that little cottage in these woods, and make sure not one _thing_ comes out alive.”

Ivory stopped walking. He stared at the path leading out of the clearing longingly. “You don’t even know where it is.”

“No?” Ivory heard behind him. “There’s a bonfire, I believe, yes? Should still be hot-” Ivory froze. “-And there’s a drinking fountain, a path to the mines… Would you like me to describe the inside?”

Ivory wiped angry tears from his eyes. He couldn’t believe the king was going to win just because he was capable of such evil. He turned around and glared at the old man. “Don’t hurt them.” His voice was weaker than his expression.

The old man smiled. “Only you have the power to stop it, boy.”

Ivory stared at the outstretched apple. He knew it was probably poisoned. He knew it was a trap.

But there was nothing else to do.

Ivory snatched up the apple and took a bite from it. As soon as he did, he fell to his knees. The old man laughed maniacally as tears fell from Ivory’s eyes. The boy screamed as excruciating pain flowed though his veins. His blood was on fire, his eyes were forced shut. Ivory’s brain knew not what else to do other than shut down, but even this was no use.

He had been condemned to an endless sleep of pain and torture.

* * *

The little house in the woods would wake the next day to the smell of fresh morning air. The dwarves would wrinkle their noses and run downstairs to find a house empty of their new friend. They would venture into the forest, sick with worry, searching every crevice for a sign of the lost prince, and it will be Moody, tears in her eyes, who finds the boy, discarded by an abandoned opal dagger in a forest clearing, deathly still and pale.

The dwarves mourned the prince in the only way they knew how. They made him a beautiful coffin of glass and rare stones. They stopped their jewel import to the kingdom and used their finest rocks to encrust the prince’s coffin. They carefully crafted a glass lid, so as to memorialize their friend’s beauty. Everyday they worked to improve the prince’s resting place, none of them ready to let him go- none of them aware that under the boy’s skin, he was awake and in endless pain.

* * *

Days later, two more beings entered the forest to find the prince. They found him lying still; his hands folded over a beautiful opal dagger; surrounded with dwarves and their jewels; and cursed themselves for being too late.

The king had been executed; the kingdom had been freed. The battle was long and treacherous, and the princess had lost many good soldiers at the hands of the wizard.

Here, before the coffin, she fell to her knees. Tears fell down her face. He had been alive all this time. She had loved him, and he had been alive. She had seen him, a servant boy, and had fallen in love with him again. His life had been led by pain and abuse, and she wasn’t able to save him.

The huntswoman stood behind the princess, frozen in grief. If only she had gone to the princess faster… If only she had believed the rumours that the prince was still alive… If only she had-…

Both of the newcomers were exhausted from the days of battle. Both were injured, bleeding from the wizard’s spells. They were in shock, haunted by the knowing that had the king not already been dying of some unknown illness, they would have been obliterated. He had been strong and merciless, but every spell turned his blood more and more black, until the king had been reduced into a frail existence.

The dwarves surrounded the crying princess and the silent huntswoman as they grieved their prince. They did not know each other, but they were friends in mourning.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that a bespectacled dwarf perked up suddenly, hand over her mouth.

Doc turned to the stranger who sat on her knees, defeated. “You are the girl in the courtyard!”

Princess Annabella sniffed and looked at the strange dwarf. “Excuse me?”

Meeky, Groggy, Stuffy, Smiley, distracted from their tears, chanted: “She’s the girl! She’s the girl!” while Dazey jumped up and down excitedly, her buns bobbing.

Annabella stood up, stepping away. “Which girl?”

“The fiery red eyes and the- I mean the _fiery_ red hair and the _beautiful_ grey eyes!” Doc insisted. “It’s you!”

Annabella frowned in confusion. She wished they would let her mourn Ivory in silence. “What do you-?”

“Who are you?” Moody asked sternly, arms crossed.

“I’m uh, I’m Princess Annabella,” she stared at them, “from the Florian Kingdom.”

The dwarves gasped. “The _Princess_!”

“He talked about you!”

“All the time!”

“Who?”

“ _Ivory_!”

“He likes you a lot!”

“He liked you a lot…”

“You have to kiss him!”

Six dwarves, a huntress, and a princess looked at Doc incredulously.

“I have to _what_?”

Doc took Annabella’s hand and led her closer to the coffin. She could see Ivory’s beautiful, albeit pale face. Seeing him brought more tears to her eyes and she tried to force them away.

“You have to kiss him! It’s the only way to relieve the curse!”

“Cursed?”

“He’s cursed?”

“How do you know?”

Annabella took Doc’s hand and looked at her seriously, bent down on one knee. “How do you know he’s cursed?” She repeated Smiley’s question, sending a concerned glance to the stony huntswoman.

Doc smiled sheepishly. “I don’t,” she blushed deep red, “but the wizard’s a king- I mean, the king’s a wizard!” Doc corrected herself, frustrated. “It’s worth a try!”

Annabella nodded. “But why a kiss?”

Doc blushed again. “I- I don’t know. I think it’s because love is the most powerful magic or something, but it always works!”

The clearing exploded with the noise of the dwarves telling the princess to kiss the boy.

“Alright, alright!” Annabella calmed them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about kissing Ivory’s cold lips. It almost felt… disrespectful. But she knew if there was even the slightest possibility that it could bring him back, she wouldn’t think twice about it.

She looked at the huntswoman, who shrugged, uncertain. They seemed to be of the same mind- hesitant, but desperate to try.

The dwarves watched, tension in the air as Annabella pushed away the glass coffin lid, sliding it onto the floor. Amongst the jewels and in the sunlight, Ivory seemed to shine like the most beautiful of jewels. Annabella knew that to be true of him. She knew that his beauty only reflected his heart, and that’s why she’d loved him all these years.

She reached out to gently stroke his short, black hair. When she’d seen him last, it was long; when she’d seen him last, he’d been-

The princess swooped forward, eyes closed in anticipation, and kissed the prince’s lips. She let herself linger, not knowing how this was usually done, then straightened up again just as fast.

The huntswoman and the dwarves around her held their breath. They searched for any sign of movement, any sign of light.

Annabella felt tears form in her eyes. Pain washed through her. Just as a tear threatened to fall from her eyes, she saw Ivory’s enchanting eyes flutter open.

“Ivory!”

She jumped forward and hugged the boy, who returned her embrace, careful of the dagger between them. The dwarves laughed elatedly and called his name, hopping up onto the coffin to hug their friend. It was not long before they were joined by the usually stiff huntswoman.

Ivory laughed, though his movements were slow. He winced in the memory of pain, but felt it flood away as he embraced his family.

He thanked them profusely and told them he loved them more than anything. He didn’t know what had happened, nor how he was awake again; but for now, it didn’t matter.

Ivory looked into the stormy grey eyes of Princess Annabella. The pair would only realize this later, but the kiss not only brought Ivory to life, but it also released Ivory of his memory loss that had been forced upon him. Memories of Annabella, of his childhood, of his parents rushed back to Ivory, laced with memories of love and happiness.

Ivory took Annabella’s hand and kissed her deeply.

She smiled into the kiss and held the back of his neck as their foreheads touched.

“Let’s get you home.”


End file.
